


Cling-Film

by EASchechter



Series: On his Brother-in-Law's Secret Service. [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 02:45:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EASchechter/pseuds/EASchechter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What *did* John find when he got home from Scotland?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 "Cling-film? Jim, why are we going to need more cling-film?" John called, starting up the stairs. "Jim... oh!" He stood in the doorway and stared, completely unable to form a coherent thought.

"You like?" Jim asked, nearly bouncing in glee.

John licked his lips and stepped further into the room. "How... how did you talk him into doing this?" he asked, walking around the gently-swaying suspended figure in the middle of the room. Sherlock was wrapped up in layers of shining cling-film and silver tape, his legs doubled and bound so that he was kneeling on air, his arms folded behind his back and almost invisible under the wrappings. He was blindfolded and gagged, and the only visible part of his body below the neck was his erection. "And how did you manage this?"

"Oh, I just asked him if he was bored," Jim answered nonchalantly. "He's got a climbing harness on under that. Then the cling-film. Tape over that for stability. He can't move a finger. But I didn't use the earplugs, so he can hear us. Can't you, my dove?" Jim crooned as he ran one hand down Sherlock's side. John heard a muffled groan in response, and saw Sherlock's erect cock twitch. He grinned and and walked around Sherlock once more.

"How long have you had him like this?"

"We only started about twenty minutes ago," Jim answered. "He's been up about five. He's comfortable -- I made sure of that before I gagged him."

"And what are you going to do now?" John asked.

Jim grinned and held a finger up to his lips. "Shhh... listen." John looked at him, then did as he was told, closing his eyes and listening. And hearing, for the first time, a soft buzzing. He opened his eyes and looked up to see Jim holding up a small box. "Remote control. He certainly isn't bored," he said, tossing it at John. "You play with this."

John examined the box, which had a sliding switch, a button, and a light. "Button is power?"

"Yep," Jim answered. He had picked up an ice cube, and slowly ran it down the length of Sherlock's neck. "Go on, give him a thrill."

John sat down on the edge of Jim's seldom-used bed and thumbed the switch, sliding it towards the power button. Sherlock jerked and moaned, and Jim laughed.

"Did I mention that this is a strong one?" he asked. He dropped the melting ice cube into the bowl, then reached out and picked up a small knife.

"What's that for?" John asked, thumbing the switch back down slightly and watching as Sherlock relaxed. He was breathing harder, sweating profusely. "How long can he stay like this?"

"This is for strategic unwrapping. And since this is the first time, no more than half an hour. We can go longer once he's more accustomed to it." Jim glanced at John and smiled. "Take your shirt off."

"I was wondering when you were going to get to me," John said as he laid the remote aside. He stood up and tugged his jumper off over his head, folding it and laying it on the bed. His shirt followed, then his vest, and he turned towards Jim to see the other man removing Sherlock's blindfold.

"Look who's come to play, my dove," Jim said, turning Sherlock so that he was facing John. Sherlock blinked twice, and it was obvious that he was nowhere near coherence.

"Hello, love. Having fun?" John asked. It took a moment before Sherlock nodded. John smiled and looked over at Jim, who had fetched things that John had never seen before out of a drawer. "What are we doing? What are those?"

Jim gave him a crooked smile. "Playing. Make fists, and give me your hands." John held his hands out, watching as Jim slipped what looked like soft leather pouches over each fist. They locked closed, then Jim drew John's hands behind his back. There was another click of a lock closing, and Jim pressed up against John's back, reaching around and unfastening John's belt.

"We missed you," Jim murmured. "Next time, you come with us."

John nodded, eyes half-closed as Jim's warm hands skimmed over his skin. "I missed you, too. Both of you."

"Ready to show us how much?" Jim asked as he pushed John's trousers and pants down below his knees. "Down you go." He guided John onto his knees in front of Sherlock, then stepped back and laughed. "Yes. Oh, yes. Oh, this is going to be fun. Now, then. Let me see... oh, I have to bring him down a bit." He moved away, and a moment later, Sherlock started to sink towards the floor When Sherlock's eyes were just above eye-level to John, Jim stopped what he was doing and came to stand behind Sherlock, unfastening the gag.

"Well now. You two haven't seen each other for days. I'm sure you have a lot of... catching up to do," Jim murmured.

John didn't need any other encouragement; he leaned forward and kissed Sherlock. Or at least, he attempted to -- Sherlock yelped as he twisted helplessly in the harness, and John almost pitched to the floor as he overbalanced and was unable to catch himself. Jim started to giggle, coming over and steadying John, then moving behind Sherlock and stopping his movement.

"Try again," Jim suggested. This time, he held Sherlock still, allowing John to press against his husband and kiss him for all that he was worth. Jim and Sherlock had been in Dublin for a week, which was six days and twenty-three hours too damned long for them to have been anywhere without John, and he wanted to be sure that Sherlock, at least, knew that. He could feel Sherlock's cock pressing hard into his stomach, and he wanted it.

Then Jim moved -- Sherlock gasped as he swung away from John and started to rise once more towards the ceiling. John cursed and steadied himself, glaring at Jim. Jim smiled sweetly back at him, moving over to the bed and sitting down. He picked the remote up and tossed it into the air.

"Jim--"

"Here's the game, my darlings," Jim interrupted. "You, Doctor, have five minutes to bring him off. If you can do it, I'll let you turn the tables on me."

"You'll what?" John asked.

Jim gave him that charming crooked grin. "I'll kneel. I know you've wanted to try it."

John looked back at Sherlock. Five minutes? The state Sherlock was in, he could probably do it in two. But...

"I can't reach."

Jim laughed. "I didn't say it was going to be easy. Oh, and just to make it interesting?" He held the remote up, then pushed the slide all the way to one end. John heard the buzzing grow louder just before Sherlock yowled like a scalded cat. John looked at Sherlock, at the tortured look on his face, then turned back to Jim in time to see him dropping the remote into a small lock-box and closing the lid.

"Jim, turn that down!"

"Can't. I don't have the key." He nodded toward Sherlock. "It's taped to his chest. So are the keys to your cuffs. The clock starts now, Doctor."


	2. Chapter 2

 Thinking was a waste of time -- John knew already that Jim was going to cheat, probably already had done something that John didn't know about to stack the deck in his favor. He just wasn't sure what or how, and he had no idea of what the consequences would be if he lost this one. So he needed to get Sherlock off, and quickly. There was no point in testing the cuffs, no point in trying to get his hands in front of him, since he wasn't going to be able to use them. He needed to get on his feet, which meant getting out of the hobbles that his clothes had become; he twisted and started trying to kick off his shoes. Above him, Sherlock was fighting against the wrappings, gasping as he tried to move. His struggles only set him to swinging, and John found that he was impressed by the bondage.

"Next time, that will be you," Jim said absently. "Four minutes."

John nodded and kicked off his trousers, freeing his legs. He got to his feet and used his shoulder to stop Sherlock's motion. "Sherlock, you with me?"

"John..." Sherlock moaned. "John, make it stop." He licked his lips and let out a long breath. "John, it _burns_."

"That would be the lube," Jim sang out. John looked at him, and he held up a small bottle. "Ginger, lime and scotch bonnet pepper oils. Wonderful stuff. Three and a half."

John turned back to Sherlock, who had closed his eyes, and looked as if he was rapidly approaching overload. Right. Variable that he hadn't considered. If he didn't get this done soon, he wouldn't be able to bring Sherlock off at all. He stepped back, and knew what was going to happen when he took the next step. Nothing he could do to stop it, and he couldn't leave Sherlock like this.

"All right, love. I've got you," he murmured, and bent from the waist so that he reach Sherlock's cock. He ran his tongue down the length of it, and immediately felt the tingle and burn of something spicy on his tongue. "This shite better be edible, Jim," he called over his shoulder.

"You could cook with it, if you wanted," Jim called back. "In small doses. Three."

John got back to work, taking Sherlock's cock into his mouth and trying to ignore the burning in his mouth. Scoville units. How many Scoville units was a Scotch bonnet pepper? Something ridiculous, he seemed to remember from that cooking show he'd used to watch. Not as bad as those ghost peppers, though. Sugar killed the burn. Sugar was bad for mucus membranes. Invited yeast. He started rocking, setting Sherlock to swinging like a pendulum, creating the illusion that Sherlock was fucking John's mouth. It was enough to set Sherlock to howling, and John hoped that he'd come quickly -- this position wasn't something he'd be able to hold for very long -- his back wouldn't take it. Jim should be making his move though. Right about...

Warm hands on John's hips were followed by nails running down the length of his spine, over and over, as if Jim were a big cat sharpening his claws. It was a good pain, and John arched his back, trying to keep his mind on what he was doing, and not on what Jim was going to do to him. He could hear Sherlock panting, brokenly calling his name. He pushed Sherlock a little harder, taking his cock a little deeper, starting to hum.

Humming turned to gasping as two fingers twisted suddenly into his ass. John forced himself to relax -- really, it wasn't that bad. Jim had used plenty of lube--

Oh, _fuck_.

The burning in his mouth was nothing compared to the burning in his ass as Jim gleefully finger-fucked him with one hand, holding him in place the other. John let out a muffled grunt of protest, then did his best to shut out what Jim was doing. Sherlock. He had to focus on Sherlock.

Three fingers. _Christ!_ It was getting harder to breathe, and John had definitely lost the rhythm somewhere in the haze of pleasure and pain. He surged forward, away from Jim's burning fingers, impaling his own throat on Sherlock's cock. Sherlock's vocalizing grew louder, a sound that John welcomed. He was close. So close.

"My turn, Johnny-boy," Jim whispered. The fingers pulled out, leaving behind an uncomfortable chill that was almost immediately filled as Jim slid into position and shoved himself balls-deep in one swift thrust. John locked his legs and held on, desperate not to fall, and unable to do anything except be fucked fore and aft. Jim's thrusts pushed John into Sherlock, set Sherlock swinging once more and established a bizarre counterpoint of thrust-and-withdrawal that left John with no respite to catch his breath.

Sherlock came explosively, and John heard the distinct sound of tape ripping as his husband spasmed against the mummification. Unable to do anything else, he swallowed, coughing, and opened his mouth, letting his knees finally buckle, carrying Jim to the ground with him. Jim kept him from hurting himself as he fell, pulling out and catching John, then dragging him onto the bed and getting him onto his knees.

"We're not done yet, Johnny-boy," Jim declared, and reclaimed John's ass. This time, he reached around and wrapped his hand around John's cock. "Your turn, boyo. Time for you to be a dirty boy and give Sherlock a good show. Time to shoot all over my bed."

John groaned and spread his knees as far as he could, hearing a soft chime somewhere as he pushed back against Jim, thrust into his hand, pulled against the cuffs that held him prisoner. He slid on the coverlet, Jim's weight pushing him down until he was flat on the bed, Jim's hand trapped underneath him. Jim slipped out, but didn't seem to care. Instead, he pulled John onto his side, wrapped his legs around John's and cupped his free hand firmly around John's throat. 

"Come on, John," Jim crooned in his ear. "Come for me. Show your sweetie. He's watching you. Watching me take you apart. Come for me."

Gasping against the pressure on his throat, John shuddered and shouted as he came, hard enough that the effort left him exhausted. He slumped onto the bed, feeling Jim's lips brush against his temple as the other man let him go and rose. John watched as Jim slowly lowered Sherlock to the floor, then used the knife to start cutting open the wrappings over Sherlock's chest. He grabbed the ring of keys and opened the lock-box, turning off the vibrator; Sherlock gasped audibly in relief as the light on the remote went out. Then Jim carefully shredded the rest of the cling-film and tape cocoon, wrapping Sherlock up in a blanket before turning his attention back to John. 

As he perched on the side of the bed, John looked at him. "You didn't come?"

Jim shook his head. "Later. I'll take care of it in the shower. He needed to be down, and you needed to be done. Roll over, John, let me get the mitts."

John rolled onto his stomach and let Jim release his hands, then rolled back and stretched. "That was good. Thank you."

"We missed you," Sherlock said softly. He moved over to sit next to the bed, resting his sweat-soaked head on the coverlet. "Don't go away again."

"You're the ones who went away," John reminded him.

"Don't let us do that, then," Jim added, running his hand through Sherlock's curls. "We need to be together."

John smiled, reached out and covered Jim's hand with his own, resting on Sherlock's head. "Love you both."

Later, as they curled together in the big bed -- John in the middle, at Sherlock's insistence -- John listened to Jim's soft snoring and Sherlock's quiet breath, and he remembered what the Doctor had said.

_The fate of the world, or the fate of one person_.

He'd never told Sherlock. Never told Jim. Never told anyone about that conversation. But he prayed that night, as he'd prayed every night since, that the one person wasn't someone in this bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what Jim used: http://homepage.ntlworld.com/kissx/ganeshaspice/products/agnisalve.html


End file.
